


Head Cases Part 3

by freyburg



Series: Head Cases [3]
Category: Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005), Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Gen, Nonsense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-10 20:56:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11134554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freyburg/pseuds/freyburg
Summary: Handles and Morbius stow aboard the Millenium Falcon and hijinks ensue. Davros further enrages Darth Vader but finds a rather unlikely ally on the Death Star. Tanner the Imperial functionary gets in to some high quality napping.





	Head Cases Part 3

The ship shuddered as it tore through space, TIE fighters roaring above and below as the tiny walls of Morbius's droid prison echoed endless laser fire. He was sick to death of it. 

"Handles? What the blazes is happening? Report!" 

“Two medium range fighters are attacking our vessel. Identification similar to last known location.” 

“Inscrutable as ever, Handles! And immediately outside?” 

“One protocol droid. Three humans, one…insufficient data. Closest analog…Yeti.”

Morbius fumed. At least they had escaped their strange prison on the space station, or "Death Star" as Handles had called it, but he was now hiding inside the guts of a small droid. 

“How utterly undignified,” he muttered to himself, before remembering once again that he was also merely a brain in a jar, and thus powerless to do anything about his current situation.

"Does not compute," Handles said.

"Oh, shut up Handles," Morbius replied, his brain folds settling into an approximation of a sulk. 

How had it come to this? To think that he, once the chosen one of the Gallifreyan High Council, would spend his remaining days trapped inside the fetid bowels of an astromech droid, flying to who-knew-where in a universe not even his own. It beggared belief.

Still, he hadn’t had to put with putdowns and insults from Davros for days. That had to count for something.

—

Davros stirred in his nutritional fluid, watching the chase unfold before him. Around him, Imperial functionaries hovered at their stations, efficient movements tempered by a streak of fear of the black-clad wraith breathing methodically beside him. 

Though he was loathe to admit it, Davros was also afraid of Vader. But a threat exists to be neutralized, he thought, smirking quietly to himself. Or co-opted. 

"Lord Vader! The...prototype is gaining on the Rebel ship!" 

Davros could almost sense a wince behind the mask. Vader disliked him intensely, that much is certain. He had charmed the Emperor on first meeting, displacing Vader on the pecking order and reminding him that he was, in the end, merely a servant. 

Not I, Davros, thought. At least, not for long.

"What is the status of the mutant casing?" Vader fumed.

"Gaining on the Princess and the droids, Lord Vader! It should be in contact with the ship in...half a parsec!"

Davros bubbled in his jar. The urge to correct this lowly servant was strong, but he held back. Perhaps their ignorance of the basics of space-time mechanics could be useful to him.

"Lord Vader," he cooed, "I suggest an alternate tactic to mere pursuit."

Vader turned and Davros shrank back. "do you?"

"Well...yes. At present, the Dalek is in the direct line of fire of the vessel's laser cannons."

"I intend to test the strength of the prototype's casing against blaster fire. You have an alternate approach?"

"Yes...and no. I propose moving the Dale....prototype further into range, and intentionally draw fire."

"So we are speaking of the same tactics."

"No, Lord Vader. You see, I want the casing to explode, thrusting the mutant within onto the ship’s outer hull. It will then act as a tracking device and infiltrate the ship, consuming the lifeforms inside the vessel.”

“Your plan is overly complicated. I predict failure.”

White-hot rage clouded Davros mind. The arrogance of this…Cyberman was incalculable. 

“And what does your Emperor think, Lord Vader?” he asked.

Davros could not see the grimace behind Vader’s mask, but he was sure he felt it. 

“Proceed,” Vader said with a curt wave. 

***

“Handles!” Morbius said. “I must know what’s going on!”

“A third craft is approaching. Designation…Dalek.”  
“A Dalek? Are you sure?”

“Materials differ from standard Dalek construction, but shape and organic component match known Dalek data types.”

Morbius mused and bubbled. There was no way Davros could have conjured one of his abominations without help, which meant he had allies aboard the space station. He could feel fear crawling up his brainstem, but fear was not what was needed now. He needed calm and time to assess the situation. 

Just then, an explosion rocked the ship. “Got him!” he heard someone yell in the distance. Closer, he heard another voice. 

“Great kid! Don’t get cocky.”

What strange banter, he mused. 

“Handles! I realize we’re in the bowels of a robot, but is there any way we can follow this combat beyond eavesdropping?”

In reply, a light flickered on Handles forehead.

“Tapping into ships’ memory bank.”

R-2’s innards lit up with crude graphics, and a checkerboard diagram cascaded across the curve of the droid’s interior casing. Two triangles swooped and dived across the checkerboard, along with a spiky, flickering sphere.

“I suppose that sphere is the Dalek?” Morbius said.

“Correct,” Handles replied. 

“It appears to be coming at us very quickly…great Rassilon, Handles, it means to crash into us!”

“Affirmative,” Handles said. 

“Well, what do we do?”

“Advice: brace self.”

“Brace myself? I’m a brain in a jar, you dunderpate!”

The display flickered. First the triangle vanished, then the sphere.

“Well,” Morbius said, relaxing his brainstem,”it must have been destroyed.”

“Inconclusive,” Handles said.

Morbius sighed, his cerebral tissue sagging. “I’m going to regret this, Handles, but precisely what are you saying?”

“Dalek casing has been vaporized. Life form..remains.”

“What?!” 

“Life form is now inside ship.” 

“This is unacceptable! That mutant will kill us all!” 

“Affirmative,” Handles warbled. 

Morbius rocked back and forth. “I’m not ready to die! I who was once the greatest of all Time Lords…”

Outside of R2’s metal shell, a dim refrain of Morbius’s panicked screech echoed into Threepio’s auditory receptors. 

“I say, R2, your guests are most impolite!” 

R2-D2 chirped in response, a low warning warble echoing through the Millennium Falcon’s lounge area. 

“A what? A creature? Where!?”

R2 beeped quietly, his dome rotating slowly as his single lens whirred to focus on a panel on the opposite wall. 

A rattle rang out through the lounge. The panel was shaking. 

“I say, Threepio observed, “this is most improper…”

The panel exploded outward as a hissing green ball of organic slime vaulted across the room and planted itself on Threepio’s face. 

“Mmmmphhh!” Threepio cried, his golden arms flailing ineffectually at the creature. R2 swayed back and forth, jostling the heads within. 

“It’s chaos out there, Handles! That thing is going to kill us all!” Morris said. 

“Affirmative,” Handles confirmed.

“Well, do something!”

“Specific instructions required. Objectives unknown.”

"Get it!"

 

Handles whirred, his positron synapses firing rapidly inside his aluminum skull. 

“Improvising,” he said. Blue light cascaded from underneath his neck bolts and the Cyber head slid upward toward the top of R2’s dome. 

“Hurry!” Morbius implored. 

Sparks flew from Handles forehead vent and with a surprised whine, the R2 unit’s dome popped open. Handles rotated quickly, tracking the Dalek mutant with a crimson head laser. 

“What are you waiting for, you mechanized menace?”

“Targeting. Targeting.” Handles intoned. 

“Target found. Firing.”

Tiny missiles screamed out of the Cyberhead and tore into the green puckered flesh of the Dalek abomination. The halls of the Millennium Falcon echoed with its screams as it writhed before dying with a wet squelch of hate and pain. 

“Well….that was unpleasant.” Morbius said. 

“Affirmative,” Handles agreed. 

Inside the mutant’s corpse, a faint light blinked. 

…

“Life form extinguished, my Lord,” the Imperial functionary said. 

“Good. And the tracking device?” Vader said. 

“Intact.”

“Excellent.” Vader turned to Davros. “It appears your creature was of use after all.”

“Creature?” Davros bristled. This continued lack of respect was intolerable. Vader might have the upper hand or the moment, but he would bide his time, wait for the proper moment, and then strike against this dark monster. 

Vader ignored his question and moved towards the door. “Continue to track the Princess. Alert me when they arrive at their destination,” he said as he left the room. 

“And what of me, Lord Vader?” 

The masked wraith spun, cold lenses staring at the wrinkled scientist. For a moment, the room filled with Vader’s mechanical breath.

“You…will be dealt with.” 

The Dark Lord turned and stalked out of the hanger bay, leaving Davros alone with his thoughts. 

Dealt with? How dare he? To think that he, the saviour of the Kaled race, could be subjected to such indignities!

Calm yourself, Davros thought. Such theatrical outburst were the dominion of Morbius and his ilk. 

Still, this was an obstacle. Vader’s hostility was obvious, and while Davros had enjoyed to company of the Emperor, he was merely a guest, and had no real power beyond his not inconsiderable guile and charm. His only Dalek had also been destroyed. A calculated risk, to be sure, but it left him vulnerable. 

That left escape, and given his current bodiless state that would require assistance. But how? Davros’s brow crinkled as he concentrated. 

Handles had said they were in a parallel universe, and Davros had opened a window into his own universe when he brought the Dalek into this domain. But what if there were individuals in this universe who mirrored those in his? Could they then be manipulated into doing his bidding?

“Well,” a smooth voice behind him purred. “So this is the Emperor’s new toy.”

Davros spun in his jar, taking in the wizened face looming above him. An officer of high rank, that much was clear. But there was something more, something very familiar. What was this old functionary hiding?

“Not the first time I’ve seen a native of Skaro, of course,” and winked. “Now let’s see what can be done with you, eh?”

No, Davros thought. It couldn’t be. Not him. Not here! And yet…

“What are you doing here, Doctor? And why do you look like that? I am familiar with all your regenerations, but this…does not fit.”

“Oh yes, the moustache! Shaved it. And this old thing,” he said, pointing at the uniform. “Itches unbearably but the scarf and coat weren’t quite cricket around here, now were they? And once Susan decided to stay on Earth..well, it was time for a bit of wander.”

For the first time in a long time, Davros was at a loss for words.

“Still, let’s keep this between you and me, shall we? These chaps can be terribly vile, and I’m afraid my TARDIS took quite a beating getting me here. But once I can recharge it, I shall be off.”

“And what will that entail?”

The old man’s severe features softened, and he made a “poof” motion with his hands, then tapped his nose conspiratorially. 

“I’ve wired it to the core of the station’s reactor, and it’ll take quite a jolt of energy to give the Eye of Harmony the kick it needs. But I have some friends who are taking care of that for me shortly,” he said with a smirk.

“Sir!”

The man’s features hardened as he turned to the functionary. “Yes, what is it?” he said in a clipped tone.

“Sir, the smuggler’s ship has escaped from the lower docking bay, and the princess is on board! Along with the plans for this battle station!”

“Pull yourself together. Inform Lord Vader I will meet him in the observation room.”

“Anything else, sir?”

Yes,” Tarkin intoned. “Take the Emperor’s friend here and put him aboard Lord Vader’s fighter. A first hand view of the Emperor’s power may alter his perspectives.”

Davros looked back and forth at the two Imperial officers. This was not going well.

“I must protest!” Davros bubbled, but the subordinate ignored his protests, hefted him under his arm, and made his way towards Vader’s sleek grey TIE Fighter.

Tarkin raised one finger to his temple and made a “be seeing you” motion, then winked at Davros as he walked away. 

***  
“Handles?”

“Online.”

“Where are we?” Morbius said.

“Triangulating location. One parsec from Yavin IV. Jungle world, localized technological hub,” Handles whirred. 

That was ever so helpful, Morbius fumed. 

“Point oh seven five parsecs,” Handles continued. 

A sharp knock from the floor shook Morbius out of his low level rage. Another knock. 

“Handles! Pinpoint the source of that sound!”

“Under the floor.”  
“Under it?”

“Storage compartment.” 

The knocking intensified until a section of the floor flipped outward, landing with a slam. A human hand emerged from the small pit, followed by the disinterested form of Tanner.

“Oh, hey.” Tanner said to R2 and C3PO as he pulled himself out of the storage compartment. 

“Confound it, Handles, get us out of this thing!” Morbius said, and the Cyberhead pushed the pair up beyond Artoo’s head. 

“You again!” Morbius said as he spotted Tanner leaning over the prone form of C3PO. The golden droid was tangled in a mess of wires and were it possible for his blank face to betray emotion, it would have radiated misery. 

"Oh I say!" 3P0 blurted. "Won't someone help!"

Tanner cleared off the last of the wires and pushed the droid into a sitting position. 

“Why thank you, sir!” 

Don’t mention it,” Tanner said. “Honestly, I just couldn’t take another second in that storage hold. It smells like a Wookie nest down there!”

“Assessment: affirmative,” Handles said. 

“I’m glad I don’t have a nose,” Morbius chimed in. 

Tanner bolted upright. “Hide!” he yelled and dove back into the storage hold, slamming the cover over himself. Handles and Morbius glanced at one another for a moment, and froze in place. C3P0 wandered in front of Handles, and R2 in front of Morbius. 

A commotion erupted as three humans and what appeared to Morbius to be an educated Yeti ran past through the chamber and out of the ship. C3P0 raised is hand and said “Oh! Your highness! A moment!” before sauntering off. R2 wheeled forward, turned his dome towards Handles, and tweeted jauntily before moving out the door. 

“What did he say, Handles?” Morbius asked. 

“Translation: good luck.”

What a lovely little robot, Morbius thought.

The hold’s door sprang open again. “What’d I miss?” Tanner said, then paused. “Nah, wait a minute, I don’t care. Let’s get out of here.”

Tanner grabbed a helmet and bundled Morbius’s head inside of it, then attached Handles to his belt by way of his left ear rod.  
“Right. If anyone asks, I’m taking him in for repairs. Also, don’t talk. Shall we?” 

Morbius piped up, his voice muffled by the helmet. “Do you think that’s wise?”

Tanner thought for a moment. “Eh,” he declared, and crept down the ramp and into the Rebel base. 

TO BE CONTINUED EVENTUALLY!


End file.
